To Die in Your Arms
by CandySmile
Summary: Tag to 8x22, "Clip Show." "Sarah's still-warm body rested numbly in his hands, gorgeous hazel eyes staring at nothing. With flush still in her cheeks, she looked like any second she would sit up and smile..." Sam is overwhelmed as he holds Sarah's body in his arms, wishing he could have done something to save her. Anguished/Hurt Sam, Awesome/Comforting Dean.


**A/N: Hello all! This is my second Supernatural story, and it's kind of a Tag to 8x22, "Clip Show." I really loved the episode, and I almost cried at the parts with Sarah. She was basically my favorite female guest star/temporary sidekick, and I was so sad to see her go. (Her death combined with Jared's acting, and the Hex Bag in the phone...D:) Anyway, I'll stop rambling and let you read the story. I hope you enjoy, and drop a review if ya like! ^_^**

* * *

Sam sat, frozen in shock at what had just happened.

Sarah's still-warm body rested numbly in his hands, gorgeous hazel eyes staring at nothing. With flush still in her cheeks, she looked like any second she would sit up and smile, brown ringlets bobbing, laughter crinkling the corners of her eyes. Yes, all signs pointed to this being some sort of sick joke. Except for her lips. They were bluing around the edges, frozen and darkening with lack of oxygen and death.

Eight years.

Eight years she had been happy, and not having to give a second thought about being safe. She had a life, and friends, and people who loved her. She had a husband, a _child._ They were a family, and now that was gone. All of it was gone.

Because of them.

Because of _him._

This-life, family, happiness-this was what they fought every day of their lives to protect. And yet here it was; lying broken in his arms, and it just wasn't _fair._ It wasn't fair to her, or her family, or to them. How could they do so much good and try so hard and still lose? How could they?

_ It. Wasn't. Fair._

Sam cried out in frustration, tears pooling in his eyes.

Why?

He had saved someone, he had touched someone and they had been okay. Better than okay. And now this, and he was back to thinking everything he touched turned rotten. This was all him.

_ Madison, Jess, Mom_... And now he could add Sarah to the death toll.

He took another look into her glassy eyes, seeming to plead with him, to question him.

_Why, Sam? Don't you like me? How could you let me die? I trusted you._

_**I trusted you...**_

It was all too much.

Sam broke down, tears flowing in buckets and shaking like a freaking kid, and for some reason, his hands had tightened like vices on Sarah's sweater, and he couldn't let go. He just couldn't. He _couldn't..._

He heard Dean curse softly and sigh, and his booted footfalls soon landed next to him, the floor creaking as he crouched down. His big brother's calloused hands gently pried his off of Sarah, and, without a word, picked her up and moved her to the couch, closing her eyes delicately and covering her with a sheet.

With nothing to grab on to, Sam's empty hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

_Empty. Always empty…_

Suddenly, Dean was back and grabbing hold of them, rubbing small circles into the palms with his thumbs.

"Sammy," he began, pausing to grab his brother and pull him into a strong embrace.

Sam cried into his shoulder.

Dean took a deep breath.

"This wasn't your fault, you hear me?" he murmured, "This is just because we saved her. We did something good—we won—and Crowley is just taking that away. And as much as it freaking sucks, it isn't because of you, Sammy. I promise."

Sam sniffled. _God, a thirty-year-old man whimpering in his brother's arms…_

"B-but I—"

A shake of the head. "Nope. No 'buts.' You beat yourself up all the time, and I won't let you do it now. This isn't your fault, Sam. Please, _please_ stop acting like you're the cause of every evil in the world, because you sure as Hell aren't."

"I'm a monster, Dean. I'm a danger to everyone and everything I touch—everyone I've ever loved. You've taken the bullet for me more times than I can count. You shouldn't have to do that, it isn't your j-"

"Then who's job is it, Sammy? If not your big brother, then who? Yeah, I risk my life for you—every damn day, because you're my baby brother and it's my responsibility to take care of you. And I'll keep doing it forever if it means you get to live a long, safe life. So, for the love of God, stop giving me that emo crap. You're not a monster, Sam, you don't deserve any of the shit that's happened to you, and I'm sorry I couldn't stop it from happening. But that's just it—you can't stop it from happening. You can't control everything, and as much as you'd like to think the world revolves around your geeky ass, —" he paused and smiled—"it doesn't. We have each other Sam, and that's the most important thing. Stone number one, remember?"

Sam nodded, wide-eyed.

"Good. Now, what do you say we get this place cleaned up and give Sarah a proper hunter's funeral, huh? I mean, she wasn't one for long, but we know better than anyone: once a hunter, always a hunter. She might as well be family."

Sam's eyes welled up again as he felt a swelling sense of pride for his brother, and for Sarah. She _was_ a hunter. She was brave and smart and tough, and one of the kindest people he'd ever met. She deserved this. He nodded.

Dean smiled his slightly sad half-smile, and ruffled his hair gently before reaching to pull Sam into another bone-crushing hug.

"Let's do this."

* * *

The sun was nearly rising when the brothers reached a location in the forest that was discreet enough to hide the smoke of the burning body. As they built the bonfire and laid Sarah's inert form gently on the wood, the leaves and sticks crunched underneath their feet. The air still held the cool, clean scent of the night, but it was joined with light, pleasant warmth that was cast by the rising sun. The environment was serene and peaceful, sad and beautiful. The sun, orange, and yellow, and pink, and _burning, _peeked its fiery tendrils over the mountains and through the trees.

Sarah would have loved the view.

When the setup was ready, the oil poured, and the match dropped, the brothers sat and reflected quietly on what had been, and what was to come. As the smoke furrowed and swirled, and disappeared into the morning breeze, a silent promise was made. This was going to end, no matter how bloody, no matter how hard, no matter what sacrifices had to be made.

There was no choice but to simply _carry on._

Because if they didn't, who would?

* * *

**A/N: Well, that was emotionally draining. I hope you enjoyed reading, and, as always, I'm grateful for any feedback you have to offer.**

**Also, I have no beta, therefore all mistakes are mine. ^_^ **


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